


A Thousand Winters Long

by FairyQueen (etoilecourageuse)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hatred, Red Wedding, War Of The Five Kings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-17
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-07 05:30:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5445035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/pseuds/FairyQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catelyn Stark has never been capable of feeling true hatred. Even when the war begins to claim the lives of those she loves without mercy and she sometimes finds herself wishing for nothing more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Thousand Winters Long

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleloonlost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleloonlost/gifts).



Catelyn Stark had never been a woman capable of hating. At times it seemed sheer impossible to believe, even to herself; at times it felt as though she were merely deceiving herself and yet… Yet hatred, true hatred as she had seen it glisten so dangerously, so frighteningly, within too many eyes, even her lord father’s, was strange to her, and would remain strange, perhaps forever. 

How tender she had been, even as a girl, and how beautiful Catelyn remembered her maiden years at Riverrun to be, when it had been so easy to ban all hatred, all despair from her soul in her blissful naivety that had faded all too soon. Her father, too, was well aware of her constant yearning for happiness, for love, and for peace. 

“You have such a gentle heart, little Cat,” Hoster Tully would tell his eldest daughter at times and then so tenderly caress her long auburn hair, his eyes full of adoration for her, yet also full of sadness. “Just like your mother.”

Catelyn Stark had never been a woman capable of hating; not in these present days and not when she still had been Catelyn Tully, yet she was no fool, knew rejection and resentment, and could hear the whispers that others appeared to be oblivious to. She was no fool, was aware of what was expected of her and knew to push her own desires aside, always. 

While her sister, upon learning of her betrothal to Jon Arryn, had come to her bedchamber the night after, screaming and lamenting, taking her shoulders and nearly shaking her as she vainly begged her for help, she had long acknowledged that it was her fate to one day become lady of Winterfell — whether as wife of tall and handsome Brandon Stark, who had not lived to see his twenty-first name day, or of his younger brother Eddard, solemn and quiet yet no less brave, no less honourable, it did not matter. 

“I hate him!” Lysa had cried, long beyond the verge of hysteria, battling against Catelyn’s grip with unexpected strength, refusing to listen to her murmurs of comfort, uttering the same word over and over… Hate. 

Hate… Hatred. It had destroyed so much, had claimed so many lives and would never cease to claim, had caused such agony, such endless and such unspeakable agony… And yet it would always persist. Hate… How could her sister hate a man she scarcely knew? How could she hate a man who fought so bravely, so valiantly? How could she possibly allow herself to speak out a word so powerful, so frightening, as though it were nothing? 

Hate. It felt as though Catelyn alone had understood the meaning of it, the true meaning, as though only she knew… She had never been a woman capable of hating, not in Riverrun and not in Winterfell. Never. She had never been capable of hating, not even after her husband had put such shame upon her by fathering a bastard, not even after he had appeared to prove himself no different than the other men, the men she had heard so many tales about… She had never been capable of hating. 

Eddard Stark had ridden into war on the morrow after the wedding, unaware that he had left his young wife behind with child, a son, an heir. His tenderness had surprised Catelyn the night before, had caused her to hope, to allow herself to hope, that perhaps she had been lucky after all, that her husband was honourable, truly, and that having him by her side she soon would become a true Northerner, the true lady of Winterfell. 

The shame had seemed to burn her in the moment of his return. In the moment she realised what a fool she had been after all. How dare she assume… 

Jon Snow… It was a disgrace. _He_ was a disgrace. But even the boy… Even Lord Eddard’s bastard wouldn’t allow her to feel what then she had so fiercely longed for. 

She had desired to hate him at first, had desired to hate him so despairingly, as it seemed so much easier to direct her burning ire toward a babe than to despise her husband for the betrayal he had committed… Perhaps it was for her own protection as well. But no. She could not. She could not hate… Had at first her blood begun to boil at his sight, had she felt nausea rise within her at the mere thought of the boy, there was no hatred toward him, no hatred toward Eddard Stark. None at all. 

The years had taken away even the last remnants of her rage, had turned her from a foolish girl into a woman at last, had matured her and given her patience, wisdom. She knew better now than to waste her emotions on the bastard; he had come to mean nothing to her, nothing at all, and perhaps even less. 

Time had given her love, too, not only for her children, the trueborn Starks of Winterfell, but also for her husband, also for Ned, a love so deep, so fierce... Catelyn had long forgiven him for what he had done all those years ago when they had merely been children, strangers to one another and yet husband and wife, had long come to adore him in the way he adored her, and had no memory of the time before they truly had sealed their bond, not only their families but also their souls. 

Ned… He was her everything, the rock her life was built upon, her only hold and her confidant who had given her the most beautiful presents that could possibly be given: their children. He was her everything… _They_ were her everything. 

Perhaps it was the love, love she had never experienced before, that would give Catelyn the will to hate at last, the will strong enough to hate if it only hatred were a strong enough emotion to be able to protect whom she loved the most, strong enough to despise those who were to harm her family, those who were to tear them apart, who were to destroy everything… But no. No… 

They had been so happy… For years they had been so happy, had been so beyond happy as they had had each other… They had been so happy… And yet. Yet, everything had fallen apart so quickly. Everything she had ever loved, ever valued, had been torn from her hands and shattered into a million pieces, shattered like her heart… How despairingly she had attempted to hold together, to mend what was broken, to save those she loved, to protect them with all her strength, all her knowledge… But she had failed. She had failed, even if she’d never surrendered. 

Catelyn Stark had never been a woman capable of hating. It felt as though she were only able to despise herself, to despise herself for weakness, her sickening weakness… How could she… how _dare_ she! She had never hated before, and would not now, now that she so desperately needed hatred to… How could she? 

They had taken everything from her, everything… Ned… Her children…. Everything! Ned… Grief seemed to drown her, took her breath away, seemed to suffocate her, deprive her of her senses, her sanity… Even the love appeared to have faded at times, giving place to grief, nothing but grief that would last a thousand winters long and not allow her to see another summer day… They had taken everything from her, even her soul… And yet she lived. She lived… 

Catelyn Stark had never been a woman capable of hating. Instead she grieved, mourned the loss of her family and was not granted the privilege to join them in death, was not granted the privilege of hatred, of scorn. She grieved, grieved still long after the last of countless tears had fallen from her eyes, as if grief was all that was left inside of her, as if grief were to tear her apart and hold her together all at once. 

Only Robb was left to remind her of what felt as though it lay so long within her past. Robb, her sweet boy who looked so much like her yet was so brave, so brave like Ned… Only Robb was left to hold on to… 

Only Robb was left… 

Madness had already taken hold of her as she watched his body fall to the ground, had taken hold of her before she realised what had happened and caused her to scream, to scream and to beg for the agony to stop, to cry on top of her lungs for mercy where no mercy would be given… Madness had already taken hold of her, and Catelyn screamed, begged for relief, begged for Ned to relieve her pain, Ned who had always been known to comfort her, to soothe her, Ned who had always been there… She screamed… Screamed until they came for her, until the dagger’s biting steel would at last silence her, too. 

When she awoke, the memory of what she had once called her life had faded. When she awoke, she hated.


End file.
